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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24226045">Normal Wasn't That Great Anyway *On Hiatus*</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starry_Emerald173/pseuds/Starry_Emerald173'>Starry_Emerald173</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Multi, Murder Mystery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:48:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,544</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24226045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starry_Emerald173/pseuds/Starry_Emerald173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin arrives in Rock Island to 1) escape the last of the press following her ex-fiancee's murder, 2) take care of the family home, and 3) possibly find love and happiness after all. But there are secrets in Griffin House and threats lurking in the shadows. Plus a really attractive local bookstore owner.</p><p>The small town, AU-modern romance novel no one asked for (except for me), featuring our dearly beloved delinquent crew. More tags added as it evolves and various characters insist to be written in; feedback appreciated and keeps the next chapter going!</p><p>Bellarke is endgame, obvi. but I'm letting them take their time getting there. Also, my girl Reyes is starting - and staying- happy in this one. You deserve so much better, Raven. And Lincoln! Plus, less problematic Octavia (ugh, the character development wrongs...well, that's why there's fanfic)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abby Griffin/Marcus Kane, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Octavia Blake/Lincoln, Raven Reyes/Miles Ezekiel Shaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Wrong Side of the Surface</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is officially on hiatus as of Fall 2020 - I fully intend to pic this up once we're through this train wreck of a series finale...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was snowing by the time Clarke finished the drive from Boston and rolled her nondescript sedan into the driveway of Griffin House. The last few miles of the highway had been ugly, and the coastal road the wound its way up from Rock Island's exit to Griffin House hadn't been any better. Her eyes were gritty with exhaustion and she was only too happy to park the car, letting it idle a moment while she looked up at the three floors of the Griffin legacy - or, well, part of it.</p><p>Under the numb fatigue, she had a lot of happy memories of this place. Maybe that was why she'd agreed to caretake the family home. It certainly felt a lot more like home than the Beacon Hill home her mother maintained for herself. And no way she could associate the word 'home' with the Back Bay apartment she and Finn had shared...</p><p>Finn.</p><p>Her dead ex-fiancee.</p><p>Her <em>murdered</em> dead ex-fiancee.</p><p>Her cheating, lying, but-still-murdered dead ex-fiancee.</p><p>It was the thought of the mess Finn's death had left in her lap that made her turn off the car, grab her backpack - holding her laptop and a couple day's essentials - and head for the front door. Running away, Detective Diyoza had sneered, like a criminal would.</p><p>The wind was as sharp as Diyoza's voice had been, waking her with a blustery cold nastiness in addition to dumping more snow on the ground, and on her in the few minutes it took to make it up the steps. The cold made her fumble with her keys, almost dropping them before she got the door open. She shut it with relief, and let the wave of tiredness take her to the floor, back pressed to the door, and let her head drop to the tops of her knees.</p><p>She was glad there was no one here to see her, to prompt her to say or do the next polite, correct thing. To pretend she wasn't hollow and raw and empty after the last year.</p><p>Her mother was appalled. At the very least, Clarke should have staff prepare the house. She'd said exactly that as Clarke had packed her bags, in a voice of bewildered genteel calm that barely hid some emotional reaction that she couldn't bring herself to share with her only living child. Abigail Griffin could not actually fathom a world without staff, or one where having had staff, one would reject them.</p><p>The train of thought prompted her to take out her phone and text her mother that she had, in fact, arrived in one piece, and she was tired and would talk to her tomorrow.</p><p>The temptation to just lay down on the entryway floor was so strong as she waited for Abigail's reply. Knowing that just a few weeks ago she would have done exactly that was enough motivation for her to push herself to feet and move on numb legs to the living room, with its empty fireplace - wood stacked neatly to the side - and sheet-draped couches and tasteful display of wealth.</p><p>She'd played by that fireplace, when she was young and her Dad was still alive. Jake Griffin, scion of the Griffin fortune, had been a good dad. He'd rolled toy cars across the wood floor and built forts and taught her to swim on the beach that waited on the other side of the house.</p><p>Sometimes she felt like death was just following her around, waiting to take another person from her.</p><p>After Jake's death, Griffin House was shuttered, receiving no more than the basic maintenance to keep it from deteriorating. At first, Clarke had thought it was out of love on her mother's part, but the Griffin lawyers had explained that Griffin House was part of the trust her father had put together. If Abigail didn't maintain the house until Clarke's thirtieth birthday, Abigail's portion of the inheritance reverted to Clarke.</p><p>Her mother had contracted local maintenance, packed their bags, and moved them to Boston, where Clarke had gone to school and then uni. Her MBA had pleased her mother - her choice to focus on nonprofits that supported the arts and education for the underprivileged had not. Though it had certainly bought her mother some cachet to have a daughter who could have done anything and chose to help those less fortunate than the Griffins and the Wells and the Kanes.</p><p>Clarke wasn't sure the last time someone had been here, but it seemed like at least the heat was functional, if not up to a-person-lives-here temperatures. She wouldn't freeze to death if she did happen to give in to the urge to lay down on the floor and let go of consciousness.</p><p>Accepting that sleeping on the floor - while convenient - would not constitute taking care of the house or herself, she turned and made her way back to the entryway and took the first step up the staircase.</p><p>Griffin House had been built five generations ago, and each generation of Griffins put their own stamp on the place. Her father hadn't had a chance to before he died, but there was something comforting about a house that had been standing so long and had seen so much, to feel the weight of all that history pressing down on your shoulders like a comforting blanket and not an oppressive one.</p><p>She made her way to the guest room on the second floor by rote. Tomorrow, or maybe another day, she'd figure out what room she wanted to take for herself for the rest of her stay, and do all the things she supposed she ought to do.</p><p>But that was for tomorrow.</p><p>She barely registered dropping her bag next to bed, or the thunk of her shoes as she popped them off, or even the softness of the mattress that was somehow, magically, under her now.</p><p>After one year, two months, and twelve days, Clarke Griffin slept without dreams.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. It's A New Dawn, It's A New Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Clarke meets Griffin House's caretakers and settles into Rock Island</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sound of the snow plow and excited - and large - dogs pulled her out of sleep the next morning the same way a gunshot might have. Her head jerked up, her whole body flailed, and for an unpleasant moment, Clarke thought she was back in Boston.</p><p>Then she remembered the drive up last night, the snow, and her head dropped back onto the bed.</p><p>Wait a minute.</p><p>Griffin House didn't have dogs. Her mother insisted - Abigail despised dogs. Clarke always suspected it was because her mother was too much like a cat - aloof, supreme in her own confidence, and only accepting others on her own terms.</p><p>More barks, coming from the front of the house. </p><p>Definitely dogs.</p><p>With a groan she pushed herself upright. She slid her feet back into her shoes, and chose to ignore the puddles the melted snow in favor of heading downstairs to investigate. </p><p>The barks and plow noises grew louder as she retraced her steps back to the front door, and then the plow sounds stopped as she crossed the entryway, only to be replaced with more excited yips and several very human shouts of suprise.</p><p>She pulled open the front door and nearly got nailed with a snowball in the face. It whooshed past her ear and into the house.</p><p>"Sorry!" The thrower of the snowball, a dark haired woman, grinned apologetically from a few feet away. "Didn't get you, did I?"</p><p>"Uh..." Clarke felt stupid as the woman continued to smile blindingly, and the target of said snowball dusted himself off and rose to a not-inconsiderable height at the edge of the steps.</p><p>Two golden retrievers danced back and forth between the two, happy, derpy joy written all over them and Clarke felt herself unfreeze just a little.</p><p>"Who are you?" She asked.</p><p>"Oh. Right. I'm Octavia - you must be Clarke. Your mom hired my mom to take care of the house. She passed a few years ago, so I do it now. And this ninja is my husband, Lincoln. We didn't think you'd be in yet, what with the snow forecast and all." The woman reached down and made another snowball, this time tossing it over her shoulder. The dogs took off after it with unhidden glee and Clarke felt her lips twitch. "Sorry if we disturbed you."</p><p>"It's no bother." </p><p>The tree-sized Lincoln gave her a small and quiet smile. "Well, I'll get back to clearing the driveway."</p><p>Octavia grinned up at her husband as they passed and then unashamedly patted him on the ass as he made his way past her. "We're young," She confided to Clarke as she moved up the steps. "But I knew the minute I laid eyes on him he was the one for me. I fought tooth and nail to get him too, and I won't pretend I didn't play dirty. I proposed the minute I turned eighteen, and he's been mine ever since." She paused just shy of the doorway. "Should we go in and talk about what you want me to do with the house now that there's a Griffin in residence?"</p><p>Since there wasn't really anything to do but step back, Clarke did, and then let Octavia lead the way back to the kitchen after shaking off the snow and closing the door behind her.</p><p>"I've always loved this kitchen," Octavia's words held the note of confession as she made her way to the coffee machine, which was already full. Clarke realized she must have slept through Octavia and Lincoln coming in to Griffin House. She was sure that would alarm her at some point, but Octavia was already pouring two cups of the most fragrant coffee Clarke had ever smelled. "I've always thought it was shame there was no one here to use it. Do you cook?"</p><p>"In theory. I suppose I've never really taken the time to learn." Between her job and the demands of her mother's political and social expectations, she hadn't had the time really. But she could boil water and she'd certainly never starved.</p><p>Maybe she could figure out if she liked to cook now that she had all the time in the world.</p><p>Eerily mirroring her thoughts, Octavia picked up one of the mugs and leaned against the granite countertop. "Fresh clay. You'll have to let me teach you how to make my brother's red sauce - it's to die for, and so easy." A shadow passed over her face. "That is, if you want me to stay on."</p><p>"Why wouldn't I?" Clarke picked up the other mug and took a sip. Her eyes slid shut with instinctive pleasure. God, that was good.</p><p>"Well, you're living here now." In a move that Clarke suspected wasn't usual, Octavia's gaze slid to the floor. "You might want...well, I don't want to presume."</p><p>Clarke took another sip of coffee, felt her brain clear a little more. And made a decision. "Look, some people might pretend that Rock Island is the end of the world. But I'm assuming you've seen some of the news from the last year. I think I'm the one who should be asking if I'm presuming that you want to stay."</p><p>A mix of relief, anger, and relief flashed across Octavia's face before she grinned again. "And help keep the Griffin House tradition going in Rock Island? You bet."</p><p>"But you have concerns? Because of...things?"</p><p>Octavia set her mug on the counter and suddenly Clarke was looking at a sharper, harder version of the woman who had nearly beaned her with a snowball. "I hope you don't think of this as speaking out of turn."</p><p>"I don't hold to the staff and family dichotomy, no. And I'm tired of being coddled from the outside world, so if you do have a problem, I'd rather hear it now."</p><p>That did cause Octavia to smile, but it was small. "Everyone in Rock Island followed the news after Finn Collins' death. Local interest, what with a Griffin being involved and all. Your father was a well-liked man, and your family is part of our town, so we followed it."</p><p>Clarke felt her stomach sink somewhere in the vicinity of the her knees. "I see."</p><p>"I never thought you did it."</p><p>The admission took a minute to sink in, and Clarke was sure she'd misheard.</p><p>"I'm sorry?"</p><p>Octavia shrugged. "I didn't see it. You'd had to have been a moron to publicly pick a fight with your fiancee and then bash his brains in a few hours later." Realizing how it sounded, Octavia winced. "Sorry. I didn't mean...point is, Lincoln and I never believed it. A lot of locals didn't - the Griffins, well, you're part of Rock Island. You may not realize it but your family has history here. And not the dried and dusty kind - the kind that holds a place like this together. A lot of people remember your dad, and your grandmother, and what they did for us. So we don't have a problem working for you, so long as you don't have a problem having us work for you."</p><p>At a loss - no one, not even her own mother, had just come out and <em>said </em>that they believed she was innocent - Clarke took a deeper drink of the coffee and then smiled at Octavia. "Then let's talk about what that entails."</p><p>***</p><p>Clarke got her bags out of the trunk of her car - which she didn't remember pulling in to the garage - and retreated to the master suite at Octavia's insistence. The master suite, not the retreat. The retreat was needed. As much as Clarke suspected that the energetic Octavia wanted to grill her for her entire life story, Clarke doubted she had the ability to interact with anyone for the rest of the day.</p><p>The master suite had never been occupied by her parents - her grandmother had still been alive when they'd lived here - but Clarke found the room comforting immediately. From the old fashioned four-poster bed to the dark midnight hue of the room, it was like stepping on to another planet. One where she wasn't Clarke Griffin, wasn't a maybe-murderer in the eyes of the BPD, wasn't a failure in the eyes of her mother. She dropped her bags on the sheet-covered settee and took what felt like her first real breath in months.</p><p>Here was home. Here was the comforting weight of history-somehow distant and not.</p><p>There was a door that led to an outside balcony she was sure she would enjoy in the spring, especially as it overlooked Rock Beach (something of a misnomer if her childhood memories of sandy beaches could be trusted). Another door led to a dressing room - not that she had enough clothes to fill such a cavernous space - and a third to a bathroom that was entirely deserving of a master suite.</p><p>She stared at the tub, a glorious deep creature of the pre-IKEA era and wished she had bubble mix. Maybe Octavia could pick some up on her next grocery run, which Octavia had assured Clarke she was happy to add to her weekly duties, starting today.</p><p>Screw the bubble mix. It was still cool inside Griffin House, and it wasn't like she had anywhere she  to be.</p><p>She turned on the taps, let the hot water spurt and sputter until the pipes cleared. Then she pushed the little rubber stopper in to the bottom of the tub and watched the water rise.</p><p>She soaked for the better part of an hour, and when she made her way back to the kitchen afterwards on the prompting of an empty stomach, realized the house had the feel of complete emptiness.</p><p>No need to hide in the suite anymore, she supposed, wrapped in a warm sweater and fleece leggings.</p><p>Octavia had left her half of a sub sandwich with a little note promising to return later that evening with 'real' food. Amused, Clarke took the sandwich and began to explore, refamiliarizing herself with Griffin House.</p><p>The first floor was built for hosting - with its grand entrance, a study cut from a manor mystery, a dining room that could seat no less than twelve - and spaciously - and, Clarke was pleased to rediscover, a solarium that had once been a greenhouse. From the back of the main level, the wide stone terrace spread, giving way to a generous lawn buried under a foot or more of snow before disappearing over the edge of the slope leading down to Rock Beach.</p><p>Clarke let her fingers trail over the spines of dusty tomes that hadn't been cracked in years, crumble dried dirt in the pots of the solarium, and even press against the glass of the living room doors overlooking the yard before she headed upstairs.</p><p>Here the house divided - the family wing and the guest wing. She had lots of memories in all of the rooms, mostly good, if a bit lonely. She couldn't make herself step in to the suite of rooms her parents had once occupied, and hurried up to the third floor.</p><p>This floor was colder and dustier than the others. Rooms mostly empty or set aside for storage. Clarke thought it might be a nice way to pass the time, sorting through family sundry.</p><p>And then she found the space above the master suite.</p><p>The room was big, with an abundance of natural light. The furniture was sturdy, but of rougher make than the rest of Griffin House's furniture. Still high quality, but without the polished edges that the hosting furniture had. Several stools, a worktable, easels...clearly the workplace for some kind of artist.</p><p>Her grandfather - long dead before Clarke was born - had been a painter. This must have been his space, she realized.</p><p>She'd painted some, in college, but it had always been a hobby for her. Finn had called it a messy one, and resented the time she'd spent on it.</p><p>Funny, she could see that now that he was gone.</p><p>Maybe here at Griffin House she could start to paint again and take back at least that small part of herself.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Bound For Trouble</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bellamy isn't all that sure about his sister's lifestyle choices - marrying her high school sweetheart, never leaving Rock Island, and working for the Griffins. Especially since Clarke Griffin is actually living in Griffin House. It's not anything personal; he just doesn't want his sister working for a possible murderer.</p><p>Change POV to Bellamy for this chapter - don't worry, they'll meet soon!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's not that Bellamy thought his sister was stupid. In fact, having had a lot to do with raising her, he would admit that on occasion, he was a little terrified of her intelligence and ability to manipulate people. Sometimes he thinks it was a mistake to name her after the sister of a roman emperor, because it's clearly informed her sense of the world and her role in it.</p><p>It's just that sometimes she makes choices he had a hard time wrapping his head around.</p><p>Like deciding to marry her highschool sweetheart right after graduation. Not that he has anything against Lincoln (now). In fact, he's pretty sure Lincoln is the best thing to happen to his little sister. He wouldn't stop Octavia from jumping out of an airplane, but he would at least make sure she had a parachute on first. Bellamy wouldn't go so far as to say Lincoln 'grounded' her. He's fairly certain nothing can ground his little sister.</p><p>But who marries their high school sweetheart these days?</p><p>Or her refusal to leave their podunk hometown, even just for a couple years to go to college, or to take a gap year and explore the world? She'd laughed in his face when he asked, and honestly, the fight they had afterwards had been a Blakes' Brawl for the books. The Blakes might not have short fuses, but once they were lit, the fireworks were <em>spectacular</em>. Bellamy and Octavia hadn't spoken a month when Lincoln finally intervened, proving that at </p><p>But this latest choice?</p><p>He was not having it.</p><p>"You cannot be serious." His voice was low, partially because he was grinding his teeth together, and partially because his dearest baby sister had dropped this bombshell on him at work and he did not want to give any of the old ladies sitting in the cafe section of the bookstore anything to seek their teeth into. "O, you cannot be serious about this."</p><p>He was leaning against the counter the register was on, mostly to help hide the tension in his body. He was well aware that half of the cafe's income came from the drama Octavia managed to drag through the door of his bookstore, but that didn't mean he had to feed it.</p><p>"The pay's good, Bell." Octavia was biting her lip as her eyes scanned his face, and he knew that she was reading - very accurately - his concern and anger. "Besides, you should see her - a breeze could blow her over."</p><p>"She's a suspect in a murder case. You can't work for a murderer."</p><p>"I don't think she did it. And they would have taken her to court by now if there had been any actual case."</p><p>"And you know that how? The Griffins are loaded - they probably just bought off the prosecutors." He remembered Abigail Griffin when the Griffins had lived here before. It wouldn't have surprised him at all if she had applied the political and financial power of the Griffin legacy to keep her kid out of jail.</p><p>"It's been over a year, Bell." Octavia's forehead wrinkled, the way it did when she was setting up to fix her mind, and fix his too. "A year! And all they have is rumor and suspicion."</p><p>Bellamy shut his eyes, tried to take a deep breath. Or five. When he opened his eyes, he would be able to calmly explain to Octavia that she <em>would not</em> be working in a house alone with a murderer.</p><p>Calmly.</p><p>Rationally.</p><p>"Besides, you know I can take care of myself."</p><p>"You're my little sister. I'm allowed to be worried." Shit. Shit shit shit. He really wasn't going to be able to stop her, was he?</p><p>"Worried, yes. Control my life? We aren't kids anymore, Bell. Big brother does not mean boss." Octavia took his hand. "I love you, but you have to stop trying to make my choices for me. Life is.."</p><p>"Whatever the hell we want?" He finished, somewhat ruefully. The phrase - something they'd said in high school - had stuck around. A little catch phrase that they now pulled out when one of them was going to do something the other one didn't like.</p><p>"You should see her, Bell." Octavia's voice turned pleading and he felt his stomach sink in the vicinity of his shoes. "She looks like a puppy that's been kicked around. Like Mom did, at the end."</p><p>"That's low, O." Aurora Blake had died of cancer - an ugly, protracted battle that Bellamy would never be able to forget. "Really low."</p><p>"There's something about her, Bell." O's nose wrinkled in thought. "I don't know what it is, but...I get the feeling she needs to be here."</p><p>"Just make sure you don't do anything stupid, like follow her into a dark basement." Octavia's laugh made him smile. "I can't promise to like it, O."</p><p>"I'm not asking you to." She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I'm starving. What's Maya got for soup?"</p><p>"White bean chicken chili."</p><p>"I'll grab a bowl before I head out then." She paused. "Really, Bell, it's going to be okay."</p><p>Bellamy wasn't sure of that at all.</p><p>They'd just see about this Clarke Griffin...</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Once More With Feeling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Back to POV - Clarke. And sorry but this one is going to be posted in two parts due to my schedule! I promise to edit the chapter and add the second half this weekend!</p><p>As the holidays draw near, our sleepy little seaside town settles in for a good, long winter. With a Griffin living - or more accurately, hiding - in Griffin House, our cast of characters speculate over it's mystery mistress, who has yet to make an appearance in said town.</p><p>Clarke settles into a routine, until it's not, and here be shadows...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Three weeks later...</em>
</p><p>"I want your opinion on something." Clarke smiled as the dogs - named Atticus and Finch, respectively - rushed into the house as Octavia carried in a hefty bag of groceries. "Here, let me help."</p><p>"Thanks," Octavia grinned and handed the bag off. "I've got another one in the car, and this'll save me from having to take my shoes off and on. Be right back."</p><p>Atticus and Finch moved like delighted, goofy sharks in circles around her, pleased as always to see another human. Clarke laughed as they bumped into each other and sent on another sprawling. "Alright, trouble-makers, who wants a milk-bone?"</p><p>The sound of the 'M' word sent both 'boys' into ecstatic fits and they began leading the way back to the kitchen.</p><p>Clarke wasn't sure what it said about her that she was helpless to resist spoiling two dogs that weren't even her own, but the kernel of happiness in her belly each time that she did made it easy to just not think about anything other than the dogs' comical reactions. She set the bag on the counter, made the boys both sit - though Finch had to be told twice - and then lay before she pulled two treats from the jar she'd stashed them in. And then laughed helplessly as Atticus and Finch inhaled the milk bones.</p><p>She'd just finished putting away the bag of groceries when Octavia joined her.</p><p>"You're going to spoil them."</p><p>"Like you and Linc don't already do that on your own." Clarke helped with the last bit of produce. "Coffee?"</p><p>"Did you-"</p><p>"Make it like you showed me? Yes."</p><p>The first morning that Octavia had come by after Clarke had returned and they'd settled things, Clarke had made coffee. </p><p>Octavia had been horrified that her new friend had been drinking 'sludge' and calling it coffee. An emergency lesson had immediately commenced, and now Clarke not only could make Octavia-approved coffee, she even knew how to use the French Press, which had honestly always intimidated her. What the hell was wrong with a good ole fashioned coffee machine?</p><p>She had to admit though, as she poured them both a cup from the french press, that it did taste better.</p><p>"So I wanted to ask your opinion on something."</p><p>"Ask away." Octavia blew on the coffee, took a gentle sip. "Oh. Oh, <em>much</em> better, Griffin."</p><p>"Glad it meets with your approval, your highness."</p><p>"Just be grateful my brother never drank your pre-Octavia coffee," Octavia's face was all serious. "He has three loves in his life - history, books, and coffee. He will allow no one to ruin them, not even a Griffin. On the upside, the bookstore cafe has the best coffee in town."</p><p>"So noted."</p><p>"You should actually stop by sometime."</p><p>That wasn't going to happen any time soon. Clarke might've settled in to Griffin House - in fact, she was enjoying herself for the first time in a long time - and it's various projects. But she wasn't ready to face the rest of Rock Island yet, even if it was just by going in to town.</p><p>"Sometime." She agreed, aiming for nonchalant. <em>Sometime</em> as in <em>never.</em></p><p>Octavia's expression said she knew what Clarke meant, and she opened her mouth to start what Clarke was sure would be an admirably waged war on Clarke Griffin's Reasons To Stay Home, so Clarke jumped in.</p><p>"I need your help on the guest suites."</p><p>"What do you need?"</p><p>Clarke had lasted all of a week before she'd begun working on the house. It was amazing how much of a difference one week - one week out from under the cloud that hung over her perpetually in Boston - had made in her mood, her energy. With no obligations on her time but the ones she chose, Clarke had realized she really would go the rest of the way insane if she didn't have a project. So she'd decided to, in her mother's words, 'refresh' Griffin House.</p><p>It wasn't so much 'refresh', Clarke supposed, as reviving. The house hadn't been neglected, but it also hadn't been lived in. And when it had been, it had been more than twenty years ago. While a lot of the furnishings were timeless, solid pieces, there were several updates that needed to be made before the house could be open again.</p><p>She hadn't realized until just now that she'd been thinking of opening Griffin House to other people, Clarke realized right that second. She hadn't had any such conscious thought.</p><p>But that was exactly what she'd been doing - making the house ready for people to live here again, and not just herself.</p><p>Huh.</p><p>"Yoo whoo...Earth to Clarke." Octavia's fingers snapped an inch away from her nose and Clarke nearly dropped her coffee mug. </p><p>"Oh. Sorry. Just...had a thought."</p><p>"More than one, I'd say." Octavia was scanning her face carefully, and Clarke couldn't tell what the other woman saw on her face. "You wanted my help?"</p><p>"I...well, I had an idea. Maybe a silly one. But the whole wing of rooms needs to be done over." She was babbling, nervous about not only her realization, but the realization that this project<em> mattered</em> to her now. "New toilets, tub, tile, paint. All of it. Some of the furniture is still solid, but it needs to be refinished. And, ah, I was thinking that they should have a theme. Something...unique for each room. But something that kind of ties them together."</p><p>"Spit it out, Clarke."</p><p>"I remember my dad telling me the stories behind all the constellations, and, well, I was thinking of doing each room with a different kind of constellation theme." The words spilled out in a rush.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Once More With Feeling p2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cont from Chapter 4</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all! Sorry for 1) the delay - I originally intended to post this over the holiday weekend - and 2) I can't *quite* figure out how to post this to the previous chapter so really, it's chapter 4 part 2...eventually as my ability to navigate improves I imagine I'll combine the two!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Spit it out, Clarke."</p><p>"I remember my dad telling me the stories behind all the constellations, and, well, I was thinking of doing each room with a different kind of constellation theme." The words spilled out in a rush.</p><p>"I could see it," Octavia's reply wasn't at all hesitant or mocking. "I'm imagining all subtle and classy nods to the stories. Rich or dark wall colors, which will suit the dark wood in the rooms well."</p><p>"Exactly." Clarke grabbed her tablet and flipped open the design she'd been playing with and showed Octavia. "You know the front guest room? I was thinking, it has such a great view of the North star..."</p><p>It was a few hours later, as the boys whimpered at the back door, that Clarke and Octavia came back to the kitchen, both greatly pleased and excited. </p><p>"You're going to need to do some research on the stories, think about what kind of touches you want to put in each of the rooms." Octavia shooed Atticus and Finch out the door. "I know the internet is a magical thing, but my brother has a book at the store I remember seeing last time I was there. I can ask him to put some aside for you next time I go in."</p><p>"I don't-"</p><p>"Clarke." Octavia's tone stopped her protests, and Clarke wanted to squirm under the level look her friend was sending her. "I'm not saying you have to go meet every single person in Rock Island. But you do need to leave this house, and you do need to start living your life again."</p><p>It was a huge measure of progress, Clarke realized, that her throat wasn't closing at the mere thought of seeing other people or leaving Griffin House. "I don't think I'm ready."</p><p>"The longer you wait, the worse it will get." There was sympathy in the younger woman's eyes, but there was also a maternal kind of steel too. "Besides, Bell's bookstore is about as safe a place as you can go. He won't let anyone hassle you, and the rest of the staff aren't going to either."</p><p>"I'll think about it." Clarke saw the disappointment on Octavia's face.</p><p>Later that night, she lay in the center of her grandmother's bed and felt like something within her was about to snap. </p><p>When she'd gotten here three weeks ago it had been her intention to hide. To hole up, speak to no one, and wait for Diyoza to stop trying to railroad her into being responsible for Finn's death. And maybe to punish herself too, she realized. For not being a good enough fiancee, for having driven Finn into someone else's arms, for not having been there that night to stop whoever <em>had</em> murdered him, instead of having drinks with Raven while they trash-talked him, or if she had only left a few minutes earlier...</p><p>But here she was. And the past was what it was. Diyoza hadn't had enough evidence to push the prosecutor's office into pursuing charges, and the lawyers her mother had hired had made it clear that the BPD would be facing a significant lawsuit if the harassment Detective Diyoza didn't stop.</p><p>How much was she going to let Diyoza take from her? She'd let the harassment stop her from seeing her friends, going to work. Her whole world had shrunk down to her mother's townhouse. And that's it. Until she was suffocating, drowning in isolation.</p><p>The thought of going into town made her want to shrink back down and simultaneously hurt, as if she'd be cutting off a limb that had only just begun to grow.</p><p>She supposed that decided it.</p><p>Clarke was going to town after all</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>THEY MEET!</p><p>This chapters the longest one yet - I had too much fun with the first part - and sorry to leave you all hanging. Hopefully another chapter up in a couple days to continue where this one leaves off...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bellamy let out abreath of relief as the door chimed and a couple of customers stumbled in from the cold. Outside the snow was falling fast and thick, like the weather gods were determined to give Rock Island a postcard perfect holiday season.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was, he could admit, pretty to look at. The way the snow came down in eddies, fat flakes that would’ve looked in place with a snowglobe. Especially since he didn’t have to be out in it until it was time to lock up and trudge home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was messy, and his thoughts circled back to his relief at not having Octavia walking into his store. Again. For the umpteenth time this week. Snarling and snapping at staff and customers alike when she saw the stack of books set behind the counter, bound by thick rubber bands - Bellamy’s usual method of placing books on hold for pickup - with a hastily scribbled ‘CG’ on a notecard slipped under the edge of a band.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His little sister was driving him insane. She’d come in like a hurricane - oh, she’d love that, Hurricane Octavia - last week and demanded he pull stock on constellations and their myths. Demanded, not asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t like he didn’t have a lot of books on those since his own tastes tended towards history and collections of stories in a broad sense. He knew for a fact that he had a better selection of both than the local library. But Octavia had insisted he put aside some stock and that no one was to touch it until Clarke Griffin herself came in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the month since she’d moved into Griffin House, no one had laid eyes on the youngest Griffin except Octavia and Lincoln. And while Clarke Griffin’s distance from the town seemed to surprise no one except Octavia, Bellamy would have to admit he was a liar if he wasn’t just a little...curious...to see the scion of Rock Island stroll into his bookstore and buy a dozen books on the stars and their mythology.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a topic of speculation for their sleepy little town; the mysterious maybe-murderess hiding away in the house on the hill. It sounded like something people might find in one of the paperback and beach reads he kept a steady supply of. And, come to think of it, the store had been having a decent run on mystery and true crime novels since the Griffin Princess had come home to roost…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But no matter how good her withdrawn ways might be for his bottom line, Bell was beginning to echo Octavia’s irritation. While hers seemed to stem from personal reasons - as if she were angrily disappointed in Clarke - his were those of the business owner beginning to feel a little bit put upon. After all, books on hold couldn’t be sold, and he had a living to tend to, didn’t he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think she’ll come in today?” Jasper, Maya’s boyfriend and general layabout whenever she was working a shift in the cafe, dropped one gangly arm onto the counter, leaning ever so slightly. He’d been in Octavia’s class in school, and was a local through and through. He’d been running in and out of the Blake house, and now the Blake Bookstore, for so long Bellamy wasn’t sure they hadn’t adopted him at some point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unable to figure out which woman Jasper meant - Clarke or Octavia - Bellamy answered as neutrally and noncommittally as possible by bringing up the weather instead. “The way the snow’s coming down, I don’t think we’ll get too many people in, period.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but,” Jasper’s overeager puppy eyes were trained fully on him and Bellamy wondered idly if those calming dog treats worked on people. Maybe he could borrow some from Octavia and get Jasper to stop twitching like he was on a sugar high. “I mean, she’s been here, like, what? A month? And no one’s seen her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Octavia has. So has Lincoln.” He pointed out as he straightened the display of local jewelry that was displayed on the far end of the counter. Had he placed next month’s inventory order? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon Bellamy,” When the whine didn’t work, Jasper leaned further over the counter. “They have to have told you </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing you can’t find in the newspapers.” Bellamy jerked his head towards the cafe. “Go bug your girlfriend instead of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grinning despite Bellamy’s tone, Jasper snapped off a quick two fingered salute as he straightened. “You bet, Dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was shaking his head with amusement when the door opened again and in came Murphy, stomping the snow off his boots onto the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least he’d done it over the rug positioned in front of the door for that exact purpose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, did I miss another touching Adopted Dad moment?” Murphy’s sneer might’ve been taken as malicious, but having been friends with Murphy for nearly his whole life, Bellamy knew there wasn’t any real feeling under it. Murphy’s entire personality was survival held together by duct tape and sarcasm - a fact that had dinged him for a period of time with the nickname of cockroach in their misspent youths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And while John Murphy would never be what the kids called </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice </span>
  </em>
  <span>he also wasn’t the raging asshole he’d been when they were teenagers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, it was nice to have a friend you didn’t have to bullshit in any way shape or form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What will you do, Blake, when you actually have kids? You’re already like Old Mother Hubbard. That cottage you live in is about the size of a shoe too…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think those nursery rhymes Emori’s been reading to the baby have gone to your head.” Bellamy retorted and had the distinct pleasure of watching a bright red flush spread up Murphy’s neck. “How’s she doing by the way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Giant.” Murphy grinned. “Ready to pop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t tell her that, did you?” This </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>Murphy after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> like my wife stabbed me recently?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, you always look like shit, so…What brings you in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My wife threatened to strangle me if I didn’t leave her alone for at least two hours.” Murphy and Emori’s seemingly violent relationship was built on the shared bones of shitty childhoods and traumas, and an affection that, despite its violent expression, was genuine and committed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that they were now expecting their first child was no small source of amusement in Rock Island. Bellamy may or may not have had a not inconsiderable sum of money placed in the betting pool on if Emori or Murphy would make it through the rest of the pregnancy without driving the other insane. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy had put his money on Emori outlasting Murphy - anyone strong enough to willingly marry John Murphy was either already insane or immune to the crazies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grab a coffee with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy scanned the store quickly. The few patrons who were in were browsing contentedly or perusing the cafe’s offerings. “Sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ordered - black coffee for Bellamy and a iced coffee for Murphy, the masochist - and took their drinks to one of the half-dozen tables between the front of the cafe counter and the bookstore windows. They sat in comfortable silence, watching the snow come down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, how’s Octavia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy snorted and Murphy smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re worried about her up at Griffin House, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I that transparent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You,” Murphy leaned back in his chair with a smug smile “Are basically hardwired on a molecular level to slip into Dad Mode at the first sign of ruffled feathers on any one of your chicks. You’ve had a bug up your ass for over a month.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not have Dad Mode dna. That’s insulting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re dodging.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sigh that slipped out this time was frustrated. “She says she’s safe, Lincoln says she’s safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re worried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m worried. She’s adamant that Griffin is innocent of all charges from last year and she says Att and Fin love her...shit, Murphy, I think she’s taking Clarke Griffin under her wing. I think she thinks of her as more of a friend than a Griffin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s a bad thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want O get swept up in the Griffin’s mess.” Bellamy scowled at his coffee while Murphy laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just realized,” Murphy gasped “Your life now has an actual honest to god Boo-Radley-Dangerous-Recluse in it, and two dogs named Atticus and Finch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy let out a garbled noise and then gave up and laughed again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a potential murderess making friends with my sister. Octavia even has me holding books for her, not that she can be bothered to come down from her castle to pick them up.” Bellamy drank the rest of the coffee. “You can stop laughing now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Murphy knuckled away a tear and grinned at him. “I might make fun of you, but honestly, Bellamy, I’m glad I have at least one person in my life who can be a good Dad model.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened again and Bellamy pushed to his feet. “You’re going to be a good Dad, Murph. You’ll fuck up, but you’ll fix it and learn from it, and move on.” He turned to greet the new customer and to give Murphy a moment to collect himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke Fucking Griffin was standing in his bookshop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d seen her in the news and papers over the last year - who the hell hadn’t? - but in real life, she packed a whole different punch. Pretty, blonde, sure. She was shorter than Octavia, more compact. Bellamy had the immediate impression that she should’ve had more curve or shape, even under the shapeless winter jacket. She looked...haunted, standing awkwardly in front of the counter, blue eyes drinking in everything, including him, with a wary kind of watchfulness he hadn’t expected to see in a pampered princess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that…” Murphy’s sentence faded because Bellamy was moving now, closing the distance quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m, uh, here to pick up some books. Octavia told me I should get them before the storm really gets going.” Her voice was quiet and still it reached in and grabbed part of him with an intensity he had no defense against.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit, he really had to work on the Dad Mode thing, didn’t he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, he decided, stopping a short distance away. Not Dad Mode, but still some protective instinct. Well, they’d just see about that...They were close enough that she had to look up at him now, and close enough for him to realize her eyes were the kind of blue people tried to describe in pulp romance novels - blue, gray or some unearthly blend of the two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Bellamy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She visibly relaxed at his name. “Oh. Nice to meet you - Octavia tells me a lot about you. She’s always full of stories of you.” When that was met with silence - seriously, could her eyes be any more blue? - she forged on and Bellamy kicked himself for not at least trying to interact like a normal person. “Anyway. I meant to come in sooner. For the books. But...well, honestly, it’s taken me a week to work up the courage to come to town. So, if I can pay for the books…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Brave Princess," He couldn't say why, but the little frown she sent his way perversely pleased him. "Sorry. Right, the books." </span>
  <span>He moved around her, stepped behind the counter. Murphy, the asshole, was giving him double thumbs up from the cafe. “Yeah, O asked me to set these aside for you. If you want to look through them and pick the ones you want-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll just take them all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay then.” He rang up the purchases, swiped the card she handed him, and put them in a bag. “Thanks for buying local.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took the bag from him with a shy kind of smile and turned to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And every light on Main Street went out, plunging the bookstore - and Rock Island - into total darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, shit." He heard Clarke Griffin say.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>So it's looking like I'm going to be posting roughly once a week or so for the foreseeable future (that's just how long it's taking me to write these longer chapters). Remember, comments feed the writer :)</p><p>Rock Island's first snowstorm of the season knocks out the power, Jasper is not-subtle, and Bellamy Blake isn't entirely sure what to make of Clarke Griffin now that he's seen her in the real world.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Well, Shit” He heard Clarke Griffin say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Power’s out.” Murphy stated, voice sounding closer than it would’ve if he’d stayed over in the cafe. “Storm must’ve - ow!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop moving around, Murph. Everyone,” Bellamy raised his voice so it would carry throughout the store. “Looks like the power’s gone out. Don’t worry, the generator should kick on in…” even as he said it, there was a mechanical grumble from the back and then the lights came back on. “Now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think it’s the whole town?” Clarke was worrying at her bottom lip and looking out at the still-dark Main Street with trepidation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>City girl, Bellamy sneered in his head. “We’re a small town, princess. Power goes out, it tends to go out for everyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shivered and he felt like a jackass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most of the houses here in town have generators just in case of something like this.” Maya joined them, Jasper trailing behind, staring like an idiot at Clarke. “I’m Maya.” The smile she gave Clarke was genuine and warm, and caused Clarke to smile back warmly too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke.” The blonde and brunette shook hands. “I must seem like a nervous city girl, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maya shrugged. “I think you’re handling it pretty well. I moved here from D.C. and I definitely didn’t handle my first winter power outage as well.” Her smile grew, remembering. “I pretty much thought it was the end of the world and they’d have to dig my frozen corpse out of the snow. Do you have a generator up at the house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little line appeared between Clarke’s eyebrows. “I don’t...I don’t know. And I’m not sure I’d know how to start one up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should call Octavia - she’d know if you have one at least.” Maya offered helpfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah.” Clarke fumbled through one of her pockets and pulled out her phone. “Just...I’ll be right back.” And then she was walking past Murphy over to the cafe while Maya gave him a disappointed look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t.” Bellamy warned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re being rude, Blake.” Maya - despite being younger than him - sounded like a chiding parent right then as she leveled an even look at him. “I know you’re withholding judgement on account of being an overprotective ass, but that woman,” She jerked a thumb behind her toward Clarke. “Is about as dangerous as a pile of leaves on a windy day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I the only one who remembers she’s suspected of murder?” Bellamy hissed. “What is this, give a Griffin a free pass day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying you seem to have made some snap judgements that don’t seem to match up with anyone else’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What she said,” Jasper seconded, joining them at the counter. “She seems...tired. In that banged-up-by-life kind of way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t believe this.” Bellamy snorted, and then fell silent as Clarke rejoined them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Octavia says there is one, but it’s fickle and old and may not work.” Clarke met his eyes. “She also volunteered your mechanical skills, said you’d probably close the bookstore early and send everyone home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy felt his back teeth grind together. “Of course she did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those eyes he couldn’t stop looking at turned chilly and Clarke’s body language stiffened, as if she was resignedly reserving herself. He couldn’t say why that bothered him but it did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t expect you to - I can call her back when I get home and have her walk me through it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy zipped up his jacket in the too-loud silence. “I’m heading home. As fun as this has been, my super pregnant wife is probably about to have a breakdown or go into labor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say hi to Emori for me,” Bellamy’s goodbye blended with Jaspers and Maya’s and Murphy was out the door before any of them finished speaking with his usual haste and lack of manners.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where did you park?” Maya asked Clarke “Jasper and I can at least walk you out to your car, help you dig it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. I walked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a two mile walk. In a blizzard.” Jasper’s jaw dropped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least it wasn’t uphill both ways,” The retort came out so quickly Bellamy guessed it had been reflex. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good one.” Jasper was unperturbed by the snappy reply. If anything, he looked pleased. “We’d offer you a ride, but our place is only a block away so we don’t drive...like, at all.” The side eye he sent Bellamy was not subtle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy sighed. “I can give you a lift. You’ll have to wait for us to close up though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a long moment before Clarke nodded, weighing something about the offer or him. He couldn’t tell, even though she was looking directly at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.” Maya’s enthusiasm was palpable. “Look, I’ve got to shut down the cafe, but if you want something really quick to drink while you wait…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to make more work for anyone.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A coffee? It’ll go to waste otherwise,” Maya added when it looked like Clarke would turn it down. “Come with me. You can keep me company while I close out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy turned his own attention to the small smattering of customers who hadn’t yet left. After - politely - shooing them out the door, he did a quick sweep of the shelves and closed out the till. Maya finished about the same time he did, and that left the four of them bundling up before heading outside, where Maya and Jasper headed for home while he locked the door behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t really have to drive me back. I get that you’re not...well, you got volunteered.” The words were out of her mouth before he could even gesture to the partially buried jeep. “And I - well, it doesn’t matter what Octavia said, but it’s obvious you don’t want to be around me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you this nervous around everyone or just me, princess?” He couldn’t take looking at her - the way she held herself, like a puppy waiting to be kicked, was just like O had described and it was pricking at his temper - so he moved through the snow towards the jeep and let her trail behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone. And you. Well, both I guess.” Without asking, she used one mittened arm to help sweep snow off the hood and windows while he did the same. “I spent most of the last year hiding from people, in general. And they always stare now, even if they don’t say anything. But Octavia...she just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Runs right over you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke smiled warmly at him and he hoped it was the exertion of moving snow that made his pulse jump. “Exactly. She’s like a sister I never had, I think. So I was a little extra nervous about meeting you because she’s the first real friend I’ve made since this mess started.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get in the jeep, Clarke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive to Griffin House was a not uncomfortably silent one. Clarke seemed to be watching the snow fall down, and Bellamy let his brain focus on the task of navigating the increasingly slippery roads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took ten minutes for him to get her generator up and running. He turned down the offer to wait out the weather, mostly because he felt like she’d made it out of obligation. Besides, he wanted his own home and some quiet time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O and Lincoln will probably come dig you out in a day or two. You’ve got enough to get you through?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s smile was genuine as she nodded. “Yeah. Thank you, Mr. Blake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call me Bellamy.” And then he slipped back out into the snowy wonderland.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because he wanted to look back, he purposefully kept his eyes on the driveway. And because he didn’t look back, he didn’t see Clarke in the window watching him go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And neither of them saw the truck parked at the edge of the property, watching Griffin House.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Tracks in the Snow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The snow storm has passed, but our character's troubles are just beginning...</p><p>The snow isn't the only thing that happened at Griffin House during the last few days, which is how Clarke ends up meeting Rock Island's Sheriff - Lexa Woods - and gives serious thought to adopting a dog of her own.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It took three days for Octavia and Lincoln to dig out the driveway at Griffin House.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atticus and Finch both bounded through the snow, chasing shovelfuls as Lincoln started working on the walk to the steps. Octavia hadn’t waited and from the knee down was coated in the white stuff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You survived!” Octavia threw her arms around Clarke when she opened the door. “I wasn’t sure if you would, but Bell said he got you home safe and sound so I knew you were alive when the snow hit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did fine. It was kind of nice, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Octavia made a rude noise. “You’re too much of a recluse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I went into town, didn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Octavia conceded as Clarke slipped on her own boots and jacket. “I’m sorry about Bell. Maya told me about it this morning - town’s finally dug out for the most part - and I really...I didn’t think he’d be such a jerk, Clarke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wasn’t.” At Octavia’s disbelieving snort, she repeated it. “He wasn’t. I was imposing on him - and I wish you hadn’t volunteered him to help me out - but he was...not a jerk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t matter if he had been a jerk; Clarke wouldn’t have told Octavia anyway. And he hadn’t been a jerk, exactly. He’d just made it patently clear that where Clarke Griffin was concerned, he was waiting to judge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She might’ve resented it slightly less if she hadn’t heard the tones of big-brother worship in Octavia’s voice during their countless conversations. If Bellamy Blake decided he didn’t want her in his sister’s life, how long would it take before that pressure broke her new found friendships?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well at least you had time to think about your new project.” At Clarke’s blank look, the younger woman clarified “The rooms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Oh, yeah.” The thought had her smiling. “I did some sketches. I think I know what I want to do, but I’m going to need a lot of paint.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shaw’s Hardware.” Octavia didn’t even hesitate, even as she lobbed a snowball at her husband who shot her a wolfish grin of promise in reply. Clarke could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> the heat pouring off the two and looked at the dogs somewhat desperately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What would it be like to be needed - </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> - that much? Something inside her twisted with a kind of longing that hurt so tangibly she winced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell Shaw you’ll be stopping by soon.” Octavia promised, having missed on Clarke’s movements entirely “Zeke’s there most days. He’s good people. So’s his mom. Grandpa Shaw’s a dick though, so watch out for him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ladies,” Lincoln nodded his head at the pair of them, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Clarke, have you been out and around since the snow fell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lincoln jerked his chin in the direction of the yard. “There’s tracks in the snow circling around the side of the house.” He was sizing her up now. “You didn’t have any visitors?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her stomach was sinking like a lead balloon. “No, no I didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many people knew you were coming here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mom. The lawyers. A couple close friends. That’s it. It wouldn’t be a stretch for some determined reporter though. Griffin House isn’t that far from Boston, and it’s all a matter of public record, I suppose.” She was surprised at her own bitterness, but she felt like her refuge had been...</span>
  <em>
    <span>dirtied</span>
  </em>
  <span> somehow. Rock Island was supposed to be safe. She was supposed to be able to heal here. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been healing here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to follow them, if you don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should call Lexa.” Octavia’s tone suggested that she wasn’t really asking Clarke or Lincoln for their opinion, but Lincoln nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do that. Clarke, could you take the boys inside? Just til Lexa can get here? I don’t want them to mess up the trail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke nodded, but her belly was full of ice, and going numb now. Lincoln whistled for Atticus and Finch, who were all too easily lured inside by promises of milkbones. They chewed noisily and happily while Clarke focused her attention on petting them. She was dimly aware of Octavia on the phone, short clipped sentences, for what seemed like forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lexa’s on her way. County sheriff.” Octavia clarified. “She’ll probably have some questions for you, but she’ll want to see the tracks first. Why don’t we go up and you can show me those sketches?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But the tracks…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will be there. And neither you or I are the kind of person who can read into this sort of thing, so let’s find something more productive to fill our time, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke let out a long breath. “Okay. Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For almost an hour they stayed upstairs, Clarke walking Octavia through each of the rooms and the designs she’d drawn up. Octavia’s awe over the sketches made her feel slightly better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re really good at this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like drawing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Octavia?” A woman’s voice floated up the stairs. “Miss Griffin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be right down!” Octavia shouted. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to Lexa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman waiting in the entryway was like an unsheathed blade, and strikingly beautiful. Clarke met the steely-eyed stare and though she felt like she was shaking inside, she didn’t look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Griffin, I presume?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherriff…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woods. Lexa Woods. Lincoln and I are cousins on our mother’s side. You told him you haven’t had any guests since Bellamy Blake dropped you off three days ago?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there anyone that springs to mind who would follow you here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bluntness of Sheriff Woods’ voice must’ve pricked at Octavia’s nerves because the younger woman tensed as she and Clarke descended the last of the steps. Clarke put a restraining hand on Octavia’s arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, Octavia. Sheriff Woods has a job to do. And yes. Detective Diyoza, from the BPD. Maybe the Collins’ - all of them think that I’ve escaped justice. I don’t think they’d come themselves, but they wouldn’t think twice about hiring someone to watch me.” She took a breath, found a surprising ember of anger in her chest. “There’s also a chance it’s the tabloids. I imagine there’s some money in pictures of the Griffin scion skulking away to Rock Island.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. We’ll start there.” The sheriff’s eyes didn’t warm, but Clarke thought she saw a measure of understanding in them. “If there’d been more than one set of tracks, I’d say it could have been local kids, sneaking up here, but given that no one without serious incentive would’ve been out in this mess...I’m not inclined to believe it, but I’ll make my inquiries all the same. You have a security system?” At Clarke’s nod, she gave a tight-lipped smile. “Good. You may want to think about beefing that up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll make the call this afternoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. You also shouldn’t be alone up here all the time. I’d recommend a dog, a large one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Octavia gestured to the boys. “They’re here often enough, we could-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Clarke said firmly, even as Sheriff Woods said “A real guard dog, O. Not derpy retrievers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Octavia knelt next to Atticus and Finch, rubbing their ears. “She doesn’t mean it, boys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A guard dog. A family member. Friend. Your place is a little isolated, so company might help deter potential trouble.” Sheriff Woods clarified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I...I have a friend who might be willing to come stay with me a few weeks." There was no might about it - Raven's texts had grown increasingly agitated. Clarke would honestly be surprised if her friend didn't leave within the hour of Clarke calling her. "I'll call her too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good. In the meantime, here's my card. Call me if you even <em>think</em> there's been an intruder on the property." The sheriff handed her a card and Clarke took it with just enough snap to make one corner of the sheriff's lip twitch upwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Lex.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sheriff Woods didn’t reply to Octavia, just inclined her head - much like Lincoln had - and strode back outside, closing the door behind her, much to Atticus and Finch’s dismay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She <em>likes</em> you," Octavia pushed Atticus away as he tried to climb into her lap and stood all the way back up. "Lexa."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We did not just live through the same ten minutes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Octavia shrugged. "Call 'em like I see 'em. She'd do a good job of this regardless - Lexa takes her responsibilities seriously. The work matters to her. It makes her a good sheriff. But I think she'll find a reason to stop by over the next couple of days and check in on you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You need your vision checked." Clarke teased and then shivered, more from the lingering unease than the cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want us to stay?” Octavia asked, reading her just fine then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Clarke murmured, then repeated more firmly. “No, but thank you. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d like to start making a list of all the paint supplies I’m going to need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The worry didn’t disappear from Octavia’s eyes, but she buried it enough to remind her, “Shaw’s Hardware. And you won’t walk this time. Your driveway is shoveled, the weather is going to get nasty again in the next couple of days. Don’t be stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until later that she wondered what this latest news would do to her reputation in Rock Island. Picturing Bellamy Blake’s response to Octavia's declaration that the sheriff liked her, she had to give in and sink to the floor to laugh.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. In Which Murphy Wins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Delinquints' Poker Night is a time honored tradition involving the massacre of pizza, pride, and Monty's Moonshine.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all! Sorry for the delay in getting this up - it's just been sitting and sitting, the fault is totally my own. Comments and kudos feed the (writing) machine in the meantime!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A day after Lexa came to see him and ask about the tracks outside Griffin House, </span>
  <span>there was a visitor at Griffin House.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The arrival of a guest at Griffin House caused a stir of curiosity and amusement in most of Rock Island residents. For Bellamy, it was mostly curiosity - the woman he’d driven home in the snow hadn’t struck him as the kind to have casual guests, and he’d bet the bookstore that Clarke didn’t have many people she’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see these days. So was this a good friend? A lawyer up from Boston?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t the only one who was curious, and that was where the amusement came in for him. </span>
  <span>Indra and her Killer Cozies Book Club were interrogating </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Since they were camped out in the cafe most afternoons and seemed to be providing community-wide entertainment, he couldn’t say it bothered him too much. Especially since Murphy - on orders from a bedridden Emori - came in every other day to see what Indra’s spies had gathered. Half the town seemed to drift in every couple of days, but it was going on a full week and no one had any </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>information to share.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing everyone could agree on that was that whoever the visitor was, it wasn’t Abigail Griffin, which was generally also agreed on as a good thing. Abigail Griffin wasn’t welcome in Rock Island, though Bellamy didn’t really know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> that was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Octavia and Lincoln said nothing about the visitor, so despite the growing curiosity steeping the town, it wasn’t until nearly two full weeks later that Bellamy learned anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Delinquent Poker Night was a tradition dating back to high school - then, they’d played with whatever tokens they could get their hands on while drinking booze stolen from their parents’ various stashes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a regularly scheduled thing, but once every couple of weeks the tradition continued, albeit with their own booze and with small ante cash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tonight was Bellamy’s night to host, and the Delinquents - so self named - were in fine form between the weather, the entertainment of small town life, and the case of Monty’s Moonshine that Monty and his wife Harper had brought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s hot,” Zeke Shaw - of the Shaw Hardware Shaws - was saying as Bellamy came back from getting the door and the three extra large pizzas that would vanish almost instantly. “Like, smoking. And smart, snappy-like. Griffin called her Raven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, man,” Murphy groaned, tossing his bet into the pot. “That’s all you got? They were in the store for like, an </span>
  <em>
    <span>hour</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re we talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Griffin’s friend.” Miller reached for the pizza box with an ‘x’ on the side of it. He was the only one who would eat pizza with pineapple on it, so by default, the whole pie was his. “Lame ass over here is being stingy with the details.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll bet you details I kick your ass this hand.” Zeke challenged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re so on.” Murphy grinned and shuffled the deck. “Emori is about ready to murder someone - likely me - if she doesn’t get a gossip fix soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are so whipped, Murph.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’d they come in for?” Bellamy wasn’t going to bet big on this hand - mostly because he wanted to get a slice or two of pizza, but also because Murphy was dealing and Murph wasn’t above a little sleight of hand to win.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paint, mostly. Lots of it. Couple different colors. Griffin was pretty specific about the colors too.” Zeke scratched his ear and Bellamy had to resist the urge to laugh. That was Zeke’s tell for a really shitty hand.  “They looked around at some of the hardware, asked around about local artists, so I gave them Niylah’s card.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Must be some kind of project for Griffin House.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aaaanddd pay up suckers.” Murphy laid his - winning - hand on the table in triumph and waved his hands at Zeke in a ‘gimme’ motion “C’mon Shaw, give me the goods.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re such a dick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn right. Now, what about this Raven chick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She and Griffin came in, talking back and forth a million miles an hour. Whoever she was, she made our resident heiress laugh a lot. She didn’t look happy to be out in public - Clarke - but her friend was clearly running interference.” Zeke set his now-empty beer aside and cracked open a new one. “Gramps took one look at her and backed his cranky ass up behind the counter.” He paused for a minute, remembering. “Eyes like dark fire, and sharp with anger but not mean, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s practically poetry.” Murphy mimed a heart going pitty-patter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up and deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So...you got her number, didn’t you?” Harper guessed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Zeke’s smile was smug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make me sic Indra on you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pax. Pax.” Zeke’s hands went up in the classic surrender move. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>may</span>
  </em>
  <span> have gotten her number, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>may</span>
  </em>
  <span> have mentioned I’d like to take her out for a drink while she’s in town.” The smug smile turned into a shit-eating grin “She said she’ll be around a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation turned to more mundane topics and the rest of the night passed easily enough. Murphy managed to win a tidy sum, which they all bitched and groaned mightily about for form’s sake, and Miller had too much too drive home, so Bellamy made up the pullout couch bed in his home office and braced himself to deal with a lot of bitching in the morning as he and Zeke poured Miller onto the thin mattress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve met her, right? Clarke Griffin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Bellamy shut the door to the office behind them and let Zeke lead the way into the kitchen. “She came into the bookstore a couple days ago - the day the power went out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Octavia couldn’t be mad at him for sharing that right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems…” Zeke’s hesitation was cautious, as if he was choosing his words carefully. “Wounded.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because the pauses were comfortable, and Bellamy sensed Zeke was looking for confirmation and not information, he leaned back against the counter and picked up a piece of pizza that had somehow survived the massacre and answered in between chews. “That was my impression too. But O says she’s got spirit under it, and more than a little spine.” He had to pause to chew a bigger-than-expected bite. “I got the feeling the Griffin princess was running away from something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zeke nodded. “That about sums it up. Guess it’s a sign she’s done running if her friend is going to be staying a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You liked her. Raven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s not to like? Woman has a body, a smile, and a brain.” The other man nodded at him “You like Clarke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m...undecided.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You dinged her with a nickname.” Zeke’s voice took on a teasing tone. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pssh.” He had the feeling that no matter what he said, Zeke wasn’t about to change his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just can’t help yourself, Blake. You adopt troubled ducklings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not.” Oh god, his voice did not just sound that petulant. “I just...I watch out for my own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Dad.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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